


five by five

by roguefembot



Category: Blake Shelton (Musician), Gwen Stefani - Fandom, Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: Angst, But also, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Relationship Development, Romance, UST, Y'all idk this covers a lot of bases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:23:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9273665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguefembot/pseuds/roguefembot
Summary: Five chapters, each with five important moments in the development of Blake and Gwen's relationship.1) Times they were there for each other2) Moments they experienced UST3) Times they said "I love you"4) Reunions - "Gwen’s used to long distance, used to not seeing her partner every single day, used to work obligations that carry them across the country or even across the globe. She’s a little less used to that partner coming back as often as possible, never smelling like someone else’s cheap perfume."





	1. Support

**Author's Note:**

> If you've ever watched Buffy: The Vampire Slayer you know that Faith Lehane's favorite response to any kind of "How are you?"-type question is "Five by five." It means she's a-okay, perfectly fine, in tip-top shape. I like to think Blake and Gwen pieced each other back together until they /were/, finally, five by five.
> 
> Also I just really like "times" fics and this gives me an excuse to do five of them for the same fandom.

**FIVE TIMES…**

**THEY WERE THERE FOR EACH OTHER**

i.

Knowing Blake is knowing happiness and wit, smiles and endless inappropriate jokes. He emits a warmth that draws you in, makes you feel comfortable, and then offers you a mixed drink. They’re the same in some ways, though lately Gwen can admit that her own sunny disposition has dimmed into a façade, some kind of botched reflection of those around her. A reflection of Blake’s warmth, more often than not.

So when Blake isn’t his ordinary happy self, the world tilts off its axis, suspending at an askew angle that gives Gwen unmistakable vertigo. She experiences it for the first time as she spots him at a raucous _Voice_ post-blinds party. The party itself isn’t a regular thing, just something special to welcome Gwen to the team, but it’s easy to feel lost at such an event. Blake certainly looks it, all six feet and five inches of him folded into a couch facing away from the masses.

She hesitates at the idea of joining him, but in the end, her feet have a mind of their own.

“Everything alright?” she asks, voice and eyes soft in a way only being a mother could condition someone to be. She sits a good two feet away.

Blake is taken aback, hastily dropping the phone he’d been hinging between his index finger and thumb into his lap. “Everything’s fine,” he insists, feigned smile unable to produce his trademark dimples. “I’ve got a cup of the strong stuff.” He indicates a solo cup nearly full of clear liquid on the coffee table in front of him.

“You mean water?” Gwen asks skeptically.

The corners of Blake’s lips twitch.

“Can’t get anything past you,” he says. He checks his phone then, the movements automatic in a compulsive way, and when he finds no new notifications he begins fidgeting with it once more.

Gwen hesitates on a follow-up when Blake’s gaze flashes up to hers. The emptiness of his eyes is uncomfortably familiar; she recognizes loneliness because she’s seen it reflected back at her in the mirror.

“You’re sure everything’s okay?” she prompts. It’s very quiet.

“Yeah, just had a record deal fall through for a former contestant, that’s all,” he says. He doesn’t meet her eyes, just shrugs as if that’s the way of things. She catches him checking his phone once more.

“Right,” she says.

“I’m just dandy,” he insists.

“I believe you.” She pats his knee twice. He finally looks at her face. “I hope you don’t mind if I sit here with you for a while, though.”

Blake shrugs, lips curling. “Couldn’t ask for kinder company.”

Gwen relaxes against the couch then, face turning towards the wall Blake had been staring at intermittently. She presumes he’s doing the same.

After some time, she whispers, “Gavin didn’t show either.”

Blake offers her his solo cup full of water.

 

ii.

It’s one of those days where nothing goes right. Actually, it’s one of those weeks where nothing goes right. She’s been fighting with Gavin nonstop and Apollo hasn’t been sleeping right and Kingston failed an easy quiz and then that started more fights with Gavin which then carried over to work because Gavin came in to be her advisor. Which means Gwen’s very public on set fights with Gavin from the day prior are fueling rumors and hesitancy among the crewmembers of _The Voice_ , and now that Gwen’s back for some follow-up interviews, Apollo just won’t stop crying. It’s one thing after another.

By the time she’s got Apollo alone in her trailer and has deduced that nursing is necessary, Gavin’s ignored two of her calls and four of her texts. The whole thing is frustrating to the point of exhaustion, and Gwen’s already so tired.

So maybe she’s crying while she’s nursing. It’s her trailer, after all. She can cry if she wants to. (Except it’ll ruin her makeup and Gregory will have to fix it before she can return to work and fixing it means asking why it’s messed up in the first place. Which means lying.)

And as her tears melodramatically roll down her cheeks, plopping onto Apollo’s adorable duck onesie, someone knocks at her trailer door. It’s probably Lizzie or a set PA calling her back to work, so she throws a nursing blanket over her chest and uses the corner to swipe at her eyes, hoping it’ll look like Apollo was the one to spit up.

“Come in!” she calls, rocking Apollo so he won’t be disturbed by the volume of her voice.

To her surprise, Blake comes bumbling in and then practically trips over himself as he realizes what’s happening. His face turns beet red just before his hands rise to shield his vision. “I, um, sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay, cowboy,” she laughs, tears from the previous moment forgotten. “I’m completely covered.”

Slowly, like he’s afraid the blanket is going to fly right off of her, Blake lowers his hands. “Hi,” he breathes nervously. Gwen smiles.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“Oh.” He hesitates before stepping closer. “I know I wasn’t on set yesterday but Adam told me about… well. I just thought I’d see how you were doing.”

Embarrassment burns her cheeks. Before she can think of a cleverly dismissive response, though, Blake adds: “I just thought it was the right thing to do, because of before… when you were there for me. It meant a lot.”

She and Blake aren’t exactly friends but they’re not strangers either. Perhaps this is their limbo – offering irregular moments of companionship.

“Today’s been… hard,” she admits, once more rocking Apollo as she senses him getting fussy again.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. It genuinely surprises her; she can count on one hand the amount of times Gavin had asked the same question since Apollo’s birth. He catches on to her hesitancy and is quieter when he suggests, “I could fight your husband for you, if you want. He’s probably in better shape but I’m hefty like a bear.”

A giggle spills from her mouth. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“He made you sad,” Blake shrugs. Gwen suddenly wonders if her makeup is smeared and discreetly swipes a thumb under each eye just in case.

“As sweet as that offer is,” she gulps, “I think I’m gonna have to turn you down.”

Blake nods. “It’s a limited time offer, so. Just let me know in the next 90 days.”

She laughs again, and then Apollo finishes nursing so she begins to put herself to rights. Blake notices the movement under her blanket and suddenly looks uncomfortable again, face paling as he shifts on his feet.

“I guess I’ll just-“ he starts, pointing towards the door.

Gwen doesn’t know what possesses her, but suddenly she’s saying: “Wanna hold him?”

Blake pauses. His face is blown wide somehow, soft and open. “Really? Are you sure?”

Gwen finishes pulling her clothes back into place and tosses the blanket aside so Blake can see Apollo’s face.

“Really.” She smiles.

His approach is measured, the process of him sitting next to her overly cautious to a comical degree. She waits for Blake to settle before she passes Apollo over, his small body nestled into the cocoon of Blake’s oversized left arm.

“He’s awfully cute,” Blake offers. His eyes crinkle at the corners, his lips curving upwards and his dimples carving crescents into his full cheeks. There’s a gravitational joy lighting his eyes when Apollo wraps a fist around his index finger.

“Yeah,” Gwen says.

 

iii.

The director calls for a ten minute break, and the tightness in Gwen’s muscles unwinds, the cage that is her lungs opening wide so that she can finally work on swallowing down the dread lodged in her throat. She can relax, if only for a moment.

Until Blake – an unexpected conduit of her discomfort ever since he announced his divorce – comes lumbering over, his steps awkward and too loud on the cement floor. When he stops in front of her chair, Gwen looks up only to find that his skin has gone ashy, his eyes red-rimmed and an identifiable bout of nausea grimacing his features. She can’t stand the thought that he’s singled her out.

Gwen abruptly stands. “I need to talk to you,” she orders, tugging on his shirt sleeve as she passes by. He follows wordlessly.

When she’s found an empty corridor, Gwen comes to a stop. Blake hovers behind her as he says, regretfully, “I’m really-“

“Please don’t say you’re okay,” she whispers. Her back is to him, eyes closed as she holds a palm to her face.

Blake’s voice is caught between confusion and concern when he replies, “Gwen? Are _you_ okay?”

And of course _he’s_ worried about _her_ now, tables turned with something as small as a distraught sigh. The unbelievable selflessness of this man.

“No,” she admits. She refuses to be a liar, even in this moment.

Blake’s hand is on her shoulder, and so she turns. Finds that his mouth has set into a straight line. He gulps as she appraises him.

“I know what you’re going through,” she says. “It’s… I hate it. Let’s leave it at that, okay?” It sounds more like she’s begging; there’s a _please_ in the spaces between her words.

Blake nods and then steps closer. He moves to hug her at a painstakingly slow pace, giving her room to retract if it’s unwanted. His hands slide from her wrists to her elbows, brushing her shoulder blades before finding a home near the small of her back. Gwen wraps her arms around his neck, breathes a relieved sigh into his collar. The lump in her throat dislodges.

“If you decide you wanna talk about it…” Blake starts, pauses. She can feel his breath against her hair. There’s something comforting about knowing he can’t see her face. Maybe if she could ensure she wasn’t seeing his, either…

“Do they have email in the great outdoors, cowboy?” she returns. The fact that she can feel his chuckle in the vibration of his chest brings a small smile to her lips.

“Usually not, but… Gotta come to the city sometimes, I s’pose,” he says.

“Perfect.”

 

iv.

It’s only taken a couple of weeks for Gwen to deduce that Blake’s shirts make ideal snot rags. The research leading up to such a conclusion is nothing short of embarrassing, but if Blake is determined to pull her into his embrace every time she breaks down in tears, it’s his own fault that he needs about five new t-shirts.

Maybe six, if their current state is any indication.

“This is so, like, humiliating,” she sniffles into his shirt, iron grip no less tight on his shirtsleeves.

“Why is it humiliating?” he says quietly, soothingly. His palms rub circles into her back.

“Because I’m always the one crying. Don’t you ever feel like crying, Blake?”

When she looks up, his lips are curved but his eyes are serious.

“I cry all the time when I’m alone. Could give you a run for your money,” he says, nudging her. He’s always joking; she wants to be serious.

Gwen’s hand finds his jaw, thumbnail rasping against his scruff. He patiently locks eyes with her.

“You could cry in front of me. You know that, right?” she asks. Blake’s eyes close as her hand slides to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the curls there.

“I know,” he says, tilting his head back to encourage her touch. In moments like these, he reminds her of a dog. The kind that’s leg would go thumping like a drum from the slightest hint of physical affection. She basks in it, in response.

“What do you cry about?”

“All sorts of things. I spilt my oatmeal the other day and there were waterworks.” His eyebrows rise, either a result of his entertainment at his own joke or of the scratches she’s offering his scalp.

“Blake,” she admonishes. “Please be serious.”

“You know I can hear your pout?” he says. “And I am serious. Been crying a lot less since we started hanging out. I like being your rock.”

“And my scratching post,” she teases. He smiles fully in response.

“I think you’ve gotten funnier. I’m taking credit.”

“Oh my God!” she laughs, and he joins in immediately. When the moment has died down, her fingers still and she bites her lip.

“Really, Blake,” she says, palms splaying against the pockets on his chest, “if you’re having a bad day or, like, whatever… Tell me, okay?”

He looks intently into her eyes then. “I always do.”

“But no tears?” she pushes.

“Being around you is enough, Gwen.”

He kisses her forehead and she sighs her contentment, hands fisting into his shirt to hold him there.

 

v.

The unforeseen problem in attempting to distance herself from Blake is that she _misses_ him. She misses him when she wakes up in the morning, has to resist sending him a picture when Zuma insists on a plaid shirt, actually tucks her phone under her pillow at night so she won’t be tempted to check it five hundred times. There’s no real reason for her attempt at distance anyway, the knowledge of which perhaps undermining her efforts the most. She just wants to know that she can do it, that she hasn’t become dependent on him.

Consequently, it’s almost horrifying how quickly she retrieves her phone from under her pillow when she feels it vibrating.

**Haven’t heard from you for two days…**

She hesitates on how to reply, unsure whether this is an accusation of some kind or an admission that he’d missed her as much as she’d missed him. Another text comes in before she’s forced to decide.

**Not really the worrying type but if you’re being held hostage by your kids send two of those lil poop guys!!!**

Maybe he needs some more emoji help, but the grin on Gwen’s face is massive, weighty. It’s foreign but not uncomfortable, and it makes her realize that two days is too long a time to go without it. She’s quick to text back:

**U can admit you missed me, cowboy!! Gx**

She doesn’t have time to worry about the implications of her text because his response is immediate.

**I missed you**

Biting her lip to quell the butterflies blossoming in her stomach, her fingers hover over the keys.

**I missed u 2. Gx**

**Oh thank Jesus. Was afraid you’d gotten over me already.**

**Ur cute. Gx**

**Can a cute country guy call you?**

Gwen starts to type “yes” before backtracking, huffing out a breath of air.

**Is his name Luke ? Gx**

**Ouch… I’m not sure if that hurt or I ate too much fatty crap for lunch.**

She laughs before calling him, a contented smile coming to her face when she hears a sleepy “Hey, darlin’.”

“You’re not allowed to die on me,” she says by way of greeting.

“Because your life would be unfulfilling?” he prompts, but the usual teasing lilt of his voice isn’t there. She knows he’s trying, but something is weighing down his tone. It’s more than exhaustion.

“Hey,” she returns quietly. “Is something wrong?”

Blake sighs on the other end of the line. “Just a low day, that’s all.”

The guilt that twists her gut is immense, painful. She should have contacted him instead of wasting time on a self-restraint exercise. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He must nod on the other end of the line, because there’s a pause before he says, “I’ve just been thinking… maybe it’s karma, y’know?”

“Karma?” Her mouth feels dry. “Why would...?”

“Because of my first marriage. Because of how it ended.”

She swallows down the lump in her throat. It’s not like she hadn’t heard the stories, but talking about it? Blake hadn’t gone there with her before. “Did you…”

_Cheat?_ She can’t say the word. Allows it to hang unspoken between them.

“Might as well have,” he says, and the words are drenched in self-loathing. Ironically, she breathes easier. The guilt screams in response.

“You regret it?”

“I regret all the hurt I caused and the way I handled things, yeah. I never… I _would_ never…” There’s an urgency to his voice, a desperation that belongs to people that are more than friends. Gwen knows there’s a difference between flirting and dating, and this conversation is liable to trip them over the border.

He sighs heavily then, and she hears shuffling on the other end of the line. When it’s done with, his voice is clearer. “I’m not a cheater, Gwen. You can trust me.”

The thing about their relationship is that Gwen had witnessed Blake’s devastation at the destruction of his marriage to Miranda firsthand. She knows that he had felt the same cutting kind of betrayal she had felt, that his heart was just as battered as hers. That his treatment of her now is colored in respect, in an experienced knowledge of what it means not to be treasured.

“I do,” she breathes. “Maybe I shouldn’t, but-“

“I swear that I’ve always been honest with you. I’ll always _be_ honest with you,” he persists. “And I’ll prove it till that doubt is removed.”

“Okay,” Gwen sighs. She relaxes back against her pillows, one index finger tracing the pattern of her comforter.

“Okay?”

“Prove it.” It’s a dare, she knows. Perhaps even an unfair one. But when he speaks again, she can hear the smile tugging at his lips.

“You ever hear of a game called 20 questions?”


	2. UST

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2) Moments they experienced UST - "She fixates on the size of his hands when one grabs a hold of hers, memorizes the dance of his fingers along her wrist. Knows that he bites his lip when in deep thought and rubs his fingers against said lip when he’s charmed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! Firstly I wanted to extend a MASSIVE thank you to everyone that commented or left kudos on the first chapter; I'd be lying if I said feedback wasn't at least 50% of my desire to continue writing.
> 
> Secondly, and more importantly, I think now is a good time to mention that these chapters do not follow each other chronologically. The events WITHIN a single chapter are chronological, but starting with next chapter you're going to see the beginning taking place way before where the previous chapter left off. I'll be including information that should hopefully orient you in the story (and is especially helpful if you're familiar with the shefani relationship timeline), but the reason for this kind of retreading is so that I can introduce a plot thread that will be resolved over the course of several chapters. It keeps all the chapters linked and necessary to one another. Think of the fic as a coloring book where each chapter represents one color; there are going to be some blank spaces left until we get to the end and have filled everything in.
> 
> Okay, I'm done being pretentious now. Hope you enjoy! :)

**FIVE TIMES…**

**THEY EXPERIENCED UST**

i.

It’s not that Gwen hasn’t noticed how attractive Blake is. She has. It would be hard to ignore those dimples or the distinguished patches of gray in his hair, the fact that his frame allows for all-encompassing hugs or the confidence with which he wields a guitar. These things are overt, the dressing on an absurdly appealing cake. She didn’t need to be single to be aware of them.

The difference, now, is the hyper-focus. She fixates on the size of his hands when one grabs a hold of hers, memorizes the dance of his fingers along her wrist. Knows that he bites his lip when in deep thought and rubs his fingers against said lip when he’s charmed. She can identify when he has an extra shirt button undone by the pattern of his chest hair. She’s even resorted to mentally mapping the path of his gaze at production meetings.

They’re at one today, and his hair is inordinately messy. There’s a wave towards the back, probably due to a cowlick, and a wayward curl that’s spiraling down his forehead. That extra shirt button is undone and he can’t stop tapping his foot, though he’s clearly trying if the weight of his hand on his knee is any indication. When he suddenly leans towards her, warm breath on her face and a half-hearted nudge to her elbow, her eyes snap first to the tilt of his mouth and then to the squint of his eyes. His very, very blue eyes.

“Everything alright, darlin’?” he whispers, wary of catching the attention of Mark, who’s been reviewing raw footage of their last taping for at least fifteen minutes now.

“Yeah.” She swallows, nodding her head in an attempt to clear her mind of salacious cobwebs.

Blake tilts his head as he studies her. His eyebrows have formed a dip on his forehead, and Gwen has the sudden urge to place her lips there. She licks them instead.

“If you’re hungry,” he says, and she has to resist laughter, “I could run to the vending machine and get you something. You like peanuts?”

“I’m not hungry for food, Blake,” she sighs. Watches him from under her eyelashes. The divot in his forehead deepens with his confusion.

Gwen leans closer, a shaky hand resting against his neck as he offers her his ear. Bravely, with the aid of a lengthy inhale, she says, “You just look really hot today, cowboy.”

There’s a low whistle – barely more than a whisper – that finds its way out of his mouth. It’s interrupted by Mark tapping a wooden pointer (where did he even get that?) against the table.

“Something you want to share with the class?” His voice is stern, the effect somehow heightened by his English accent. These days, everything Blake-related ends up making Gwen feel like a high school girl, and this is just one more instance to add to the list.

Blake’s smirking but his face is pastel pink when he responds, “Gwen was just telling me about how she’s _starving_.”

 

ii.

Apparently, the way to deal with an uncomfortable, indefinable, bothersome line between friendship and something more is simply to blur it. With alcohol.

Gwen assumes that this is Blake’s thought process, because there’s really no other explanation for why he showed up on her doorstep with a bottle of tequila and a ‘80s playlist on her second night without the kids this week. Similarly, there’s no other explanation for why she’s physically spilling onto him, her legs tucked underneath her but her kneecaps indenting his thigh, her forehead firmly planted on his shoulder. He’s no better, because the arm connected to his shoulder – her pillow – is slung around her, encouraging further contact.

“You doing alright?” he asks softly, bending to inspect her face as his fingers brush the hair out of her eyes.

“I feel…” She struggles for words, interlocks her fingers as if to summon eloquence. “Relaxed?”

Blake chuckles. “I think tequila’s supposed to have the opposite effect.” His hand is at her chin now, tipping her head back so that she’s forced to meet his eyes.

“Not the tequila,” she says. Her eyebrows furrow as she thinks through the fog in her brain, eventually conceptualizing words that will have to fight the heaviness of her tongue. Finally, “It more has to do with your presence. Like, calming me.” Her hand rests against his chest, where his heart should be.

“That’s one way to tell a guy he’s boring, I guess,” he jokes, forehead crinkled in that concerned, self-deprecating way. Gwen sometimes forgets between his incredible ability to offer her solace or lift her from insecurity that he’s perhaps the more broken of the two of them. He just likes to suffer in silence.

“That’s not what I meant.” She rolls her eyes as her hand slides upwards, gliding along smooth skin until the rasp of his beard stills it. Her thumb brushes where his dimples should be. “Are you ever gonna just let me compliment you?”

His eyes are intent on hers for a long moment. “Maybe someday.”

“Then I’ll keep trying,” she resolves. There’s an oath in there, some kind of promise of longevity and effort, and it’s sealed when his skin dips under her thumb with his smile and the pronouncement of his dimples.

“You could start now, if you want,” he hints, and his grin has suddenly melted into a teasing, devilish little smirk.

Gwen sighs as if she’s accepting some grand undertaking, though she’s unable to keep her smile at bay. “These dimples,” she begins, swiping her thumb for emphasis, “are super cute. Just so you know.”

“Oh yeah?” Unadulterated delight.

“Mmmhmm.”

“You wanna kiss one?” he proposes. He offers his cheek in some mock pose reminiscent of voguing, and a giggle just spills out of Gwen’s mouth.

“What? You’re so dumb,” she accuses, but his head is advancing and so she kisses his dimple anyway, hand holding his jaw close to prolong the moment.

As he pulls away he begins to say “They’re in high demand, so-“ but the words suddenly halt, caught in the thick space between them. Blake swallows as he meets her eyes, licking his lips before he’s able to finish, much too softly, “Consider yourself lucky.”

Gwen’s mouth tilts as she contemplates a comeback, but before inspiration can strike Blake’s in the way, fusing his own mouth to hers. It’s somehow both desperate and exploring, needy without the oft accompanying hurry. She finds that his lower lip slots perfectly between her lips, that his hand is large enough to cradle the entire back of her skull. When she shifts closer, he sighs into her mouth and warmth blossoms in her chest as if to suggest that somehow, impossibly, he has breathed life directly into her.

There’s no time to express the “Wow” on the tip of her tongue when he pulls away, no time to study the set of his jaw and determine if the feeling is mutual, because the moment Blake has taken a breath he’s diving back in, open-mouthed and with the tip of his tongue lining the seam of her lips. His movements are more urgent, animalistic. Both palms find purchase on her ass so that he can lift her into his lap. In turn, Gwen locks her thighs at his waist and scratches her nails through his curls, grazing his scalp. When he moans, something inside of Gwen cracks open, breaking free, and so she shoves her tongue into his mouth and revels in his stilted surprise.

He’s not above vengeance, apparently, because he immediately responds by leveraging his hold on her ass so that he can grind up into her. He’s slow about it, careful to make sure she can feel exactly how hard he is even through his jeans.

It’s when she gasps, fingers flicking at his top button, that he suddenly returns to himself and disengages. She has half a mind to follow the retreat of his lips, but her fear of embarrassment stills her.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, shaking his head. His jaw ticks. “I’m sorry I got carried away.”

Her face is tight and warm and terrible, she’s sure, as she looks down at her lap. “I thought-“ she starts, stopping herself because she hates the very evident wobble of insecurity in her voice.

“No, oh my God, Gwen,” he rushes to reassure. His hands journey from a light touch at her elbows to an insistent hold on her cheeks. “God knows I want you. We’re just drunk, is all.”

Frustratingly, his accent is thick from want, sexier and deeper and she swears she feels it in her core. She’s hesitant to meet his eyes. He must sense it because he forges on.

“If you still want me to kiss you tomorrow, well, you’d be hard-pressed to find someone more willing.” Blake smiles then and his eyes flicker down to Gwen’s lips and she feels better, less locked up.

Pushing further decision-making back is even comforting, in a way, because she knows she can’t think straight right now but it would be impossible to ignore the very real fact that that freight train of a kiss just changed everything.

 

iii.

Gwen knows that she’s mishandling this situation, and she hates it. Hurting peoples’ feelings in general is a fear of hers, because there’s really no guilt greater than the one that comes from knowing you’re responsible for wiping the smile off of someone’s face. This is worse, though, because it’s _Blake_. She can admit in some secluded recesses of her mind that he’s her favorite person now. Has probably been her favorite person for a very long time.

It comes as a surprise, then, when he’s the one to FaceTime her first. She’s hesitant to answer, wary of the expression she imagines will be set into his features. Eventually, she gives in as she always does.

“Hey, darlin’!” he smiles, easygoing as ever.

Insecurity pricks at her throat, muting her smile and her enthusiasm when she returns, “What’s up, superbabe?”

“Just missed you. It’s awfully lonely and cold out here in Mexico.” He’s so uninhibited, so disarmingly sweet. He must not register the crinkle in her brow.

Testing the waters, she returns, “You’re not, um, upset with me? Or anything?”

The way Blake’s eyebrows furrow like that’s the most absurd thing she’s ever said to him does something to her insides. They fuzz.

“Why would I be mad? We said we were gonna live in the moment, right?” At her nod, he completes, “So that’s what we’re doin’. I’m not expecting anything from you.”

“Right, but what you said-“

“Heat of the moment kinda thing,” he waves off. She doesn’t know why disappointment settles heavy in her chest, so she allows herself a moment to relax against her pillows and regard his face on the screen. His gaze flickers around, unable to settle into hers, and it’s enough for her to question his nonchalance.

“So you didn’t mean it.” It’s not quite a conclusion, not quite a question, but it catches his attention. His eyes flare as he registers the look on her face, what must be unmistakable hurt.

He scratches the back of his head as his cheeks redden. “I meant it,” he admits, sheepish. “I just didn’t mean to say it out loud. Yet.” His tongue trips on the “t” and Gwen knows it means something that a simple sound could fill her with warmth. She just can’t say it.

“So I understand if you need time,” he finishes.

It feels stupid that her eyes well with tears, so she bites the inside of her cheek. Blake watches, anticipatory. Finally, “Thank you, Blake.”

He absorbs the breathiness of her voice, watches her watching him for a long moment. Then he smiles, and there’s a glint to his eye.

“Besides,” he says. “Your reaction didn’t really leave me with the impression that you _hated_ it.”

Her cheeks heat as she spouts, “What?!”

“I’ve just never heard you make that sound before,” he shrugs. Gwen hides her face in her free hand.

“Oh my _God_ , Blake, shut up!”

“What? Your kids around or something?”

“No, but!” She struggles to find the words through the excruciating burn of embarrassment. Even as she lowers her hand, she can’t quite look directly at the screen. “I just can’t, like, talk about it.”

When she musters up the courage to peek at Blake out of the corner of her eye, she finds that his smirk has only deepened. “Are you tellin’ me you can boss me around in the bedroom but you can’t _talk_ about it afterwards?”

“Yes!” she bursts.

“Why not?”

“Because,” she slams a palm down on the mattress. “I’m a good girl, Blake.”

He laughs then, full-bellied and drenched in disbelief. “I don’t think so, Gwen.” When she looks at him, his eyes dance. “I think you’re a naughty girl that wants to do naughty things to me.”

“Oh my God!” she practically yells, only just remembering to keep her voice down for the boys down the hall. Her next words are muffled because she’s decided to bury her face between her elbow and her pillow. “You’re crazy.”

“But you’re a little turned on now, huh?” Blake pushes, and she can hear the amusement in his voice. There’s an undercurrent there, too, and it emerges in the extra rasp afforded to his consonants.

The worst part? She really is that easy. His voice, his happiness and playfulness now, his boundless consideration earlier… these are all things she revels in and is inordinately effected by.

“Maybe,” she concedes. Blake whistles low in his throat.

“The things I’d do to you if I were in that bed.” He shakes his head mournfully when she dares to raise her eye line from her elbow.

She swallows before prompting, quietly, “Name one.”

“Make you make that crazy sound again,” he flirts. Gwen shoots up suddenly, hauling her phone with her.

“Nope, we’re done,” she cuts in.

Blake’s face is caught between disappointment and entertainment. “Did I say ‘crazy?’ I meant cute. It was a very cute noise.”

She shakes her head vehemently in return. “No, cowboy, it’s over. You ruined it.”

“Sexy?” he continues. “A sexy noise.”

“I’m about to hang up on you,” she threatens, but her words are broken by laughter. Blake grins good-naturedly.

“Hey, one more thing,” he says suddenly. She perks up. “I started writing you a song – don’t worry, it was before this whole… thing – and I was thinkin’ about sending it to you. You want me to?”

“Wow,” she breathes. The air feels heavier now. “Yeah, okay. Send it to me.”

“I don’t want you feelin’ pressured or anything, okay? It’s got to do with some, uh, trust issues I might have but it’s not about calling you out or anything. We’re in a bit of a different place now, I hope.” It’s clear that he has to force himself to stop talking, and as she watches his face she notes the worry lines appearing. She nods her head sympathetically.

“If anyone knows about writing really personal, like, time sensitive lyrics, Blake, it’s me,” she reassures. His next blink is long as he takes that in. When he opens his eyes again, there’s a fondness and a surety that is so unwavering it unnerves her. She shifts uncomfortably and, in turn, Blake diverts his gaze.

“Anyway, I missed you,” he repeats his earlier sentiment. It’s not what he wanted to say.

Gwen swallows around the lump in her throat, tries to ignore the niggling awareness that she’s cutting him with her broken edges. “I missed you too.” Though it’s the truth, it doesn’t sit right. In the same way she knows that Blake is now holding back, she also knows that her answer should be so much more.

As they hang up, she wonders why she can’t just say, _Of course I love you, too, doofus._ It must be caught up in that lump still obstructing her throat.

 

iv.

In the beginning of their relationship, they were tentative. There was a touch of carefulness in every interaction shared, a knowledge that whatever they were building could force a domino effect of repercussions. A relationship could never just be about them; it had to consider her children, their show, the public.

Gwen can acknowledge that they’ve now become reckless. The problem, of course, is that she can’t find it in herself to care. There’s a freedom involved in falling in love and it’s superseding rationality.

It doesn’t help that Blake looks delectable in all black or that Gwen purposely wore a revealing wrap of a dress just to fuck with him. He’d been staring at her, slack-jawed, for the better part of an hour. So she really can’t be held responsible for dragging him away from the visionary ball immediately after Pharrell’s performance.

She could, perhaps, be held responsible for pressing Blake into the wall of an annexed hallway, her lips frantically marking the expanse of his exposed chest, her fingers caught in the curls at the nape of his neck. He’s an equal partner, though, with his palms pressing into her back and forcing her closer, his breath a rugged gruff at her hairline.

“Gwen,” he groans, hands migrating to her shoulder blades. She sucks at a spot on his chest long enough for his fingers to stutter. “You gotta let me kiss you properly.” His mouth presses against her temple, slides to the crown of her head as he waits.

Though she heeds his request, her lips forge a path along his throat, his jawline, the corner of his mouth. It’s a decently torturous wait before he’s able to claim her mouth fully. He lets out a contented little sigh and wraps her body in his arms, which are long enough to leave each hand curled on an opposite dip of her waist.

There’s a roar of applause from inside the auditorium and they break long enough to chuckle about it.

“I cannot believe,” she breathes, pausing to kiss him thrice more, “you’ve turned me into this person. It’s crazy.”

Blake makes a charming, scrunched little face. “You trying to blame me for your vixen tendencies?” His fingertips dip below the strips of fabric crossing over her chest for emphasis.

“No, I’m blaming you for being stupid hot,” she returns, tugging at his hair so that the right corner of his mouth will twitch pleasurably. He spins her then, trapping her between his body and the wall while he reclaims her lips.

“You should look in a mirror, Gwen, because…” He appraises her, eyebrows raised. It seems absurd and impossible that he could always imbue her with confidence and warmth just from a look or a compliment, and yet here they are. “You’re shockingly stunning.”

She attacks him then, hungry kisses reinforced by her hold on his neck. It’s her tongue sliding into his mouth that causes his hips to jerk into hers, a move that never fails to short-circuit her brain or inspire a rocking retaliation. By this point, sex is no stranger to them. Even geographically adventurous sex isn’t particularly foreign. But sex against a wall with a flood of people in the next room? Gwen’s not into exhibitionism but with the way Blake’s tilting her hips into his, she’s strongly considering testing the waters.

Until she hears voices down the corridor, that is. Blake must hear them too because he immediately disengages, even going so far as to step back. It leaves her cold and disappointed, but she can at least feel comfort in the fact that his pout communicates similar discontent.

His hair looks a mess but it’s unbelievably cute and so Gwen doesn’t bother trying to fix it. She still licks a thumb and works to smear away the gloss on his skin, though, giggling when Blake bites his lip through a smile.

 

v.

Gwen registers that she is being watched before she is fully conscious, a strange sense of displacement jostling her out of her sleep. It is only when her eyelids begin to flutter that Blake moves in for a kiss, his lips slotting over hers delicately as his fingertips skitter down her spine. She sighs when he shifts to concentrate on the corner of her jaw.

“What time is it?” she says, voice thick. Her hands slide under his t-shirt and she revels in the way he shivers.

“About an hour before the boys should wake up,” he answers. Immediately afterwards, he trails kisses back up her cheek and then reclaims her lips. She only indulges for a moment.

“Did you plan this?” She laughs as he pauses.

“Gwen, we’ve had the kids for two months.” Her eyebrows raise as he burrows into her collarbones, arms tightening around her lower back. “I love the kids. But I also love lovin’ up on my gal.”

She hums at him, pretending to consider what he’s proposing. He resumes kissing any skin he can reach, and her fingernails tickle at his lower back in return.

The truth of the matter is that she’s missed him as well, that her skin thrums with the thought of him buried inside of her. She wraps her legs around his waist.

“Well, since you’ve thought about it so much,” she muses, rolling him on top of her, “I guess we could sneak in a morning round.”

Blake smirks and then kisses her full-on, his mouth open and his tongue insistent. She lets out a muffled moan and rocks into him, one hand grasping his ass and the other snaking between them. She waits until his kissing slides into that space of familiarity before she bypasses his boxers to wrap her eager hand around the base of his dick. The resultant groan that spills from his lips is uninhibited and messy and it sends a lightning strike right down her spine. Warmth pools low in her gut.

And then there’s a series of frantic smacks on their door, the sound of little Apollo’s voice chanting, “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

Blake rolls off of her exasperatedly, pulling the blankets up to hide what’s left of his semi. Gwen rises to answer the door, mouths, “I’m sorry.” The tilt of his mouth tells her he’s not actually mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my best friend, Odalis. It's her birthday today and this is present 1 of 3. Love you, boo!


	3. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She appreciates that about him. Loves that about him. So she tells him, because the words haven’t been foreign to them for some time now.
> 
> He looks at her with the same rise of his eyebrows, the same upward tick of his lips, the same unmistakable disbelief that he always does."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo!! As always, thank you so so so much to everyone that has commented and/or left kudos on this story. Feedback is fuel. Also, it makes me smile like an idiot. :)
> 
> Y'all ready for some ooey gooey cheese? Because this chapter's all about love.

**(3)**

**FIVE TIMES…**

**THEY SAID “I LOVE YOU”**

i.

After almost twenty years with the same person, Gwen is discovering that sex is a learning process. For once, she doesn’t mind doing the homework.

She knew before they started sleeping together that Blake liked when she scratched at his scalp, knew his head would lull if she threaded her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. It takes a couple rounds to learn that the corner of his mouth will twitch if she tugs. Takes a couple more to figure out he also likes her hands on his ass or clinging to his biceps when she’s desperate, that he’ll groan into her hair if she bites at his pulse point. That he would rather fuck up into her when she’s riding him than lay dormant while she does all the work.

For his part, mapping out her body is his preferred technique. Somewhere between discovering that her breath would hitch if he sucked at her sternum and that her thighs quivered when he licked along her pussy lips, Blake decided he liked reducing her to a begging mess. Nearly as much, he claimed, as he liked her to do the same to him.

This is how she finds herself pinned to her mattress, Blake’s weight settled into her as his hips rock at a frustratingly slow pace. He’s got an arm wrapped around her back, pressing her close, and a hand cupping her cheek so he can lay open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and neck. Her toes curl when he pushes deeper, legs rising until her heels can dig into his ass to encourage the heat building in her core. Reacting to her tell, his pace slows further until she’s panting and clawing at his biceps. She used to think it was kind of funny that his tan ended right where her pinky nails liked to rest.

“ _Fuck_ , Blake,” she whines, ankles hooking as her hips rise to compensate.

He chuckles against her slick neck, kisses the goosebumps that rise as a result. “I thought I was.”

Gwen scratches up to his shoulder blades and huffs out a breath.

“Fast-er,” she enunciates.

He slams into her then, movements suddenly relentless as his hands slide along her body until they’ve found her hips for leverage. Her eyes roll back in her head, legs spreading wider in welcome. It’s when she’s begun to emit a low-pitched moan that Blake suddenly halts. His mouth smothering against hers only serves to delay her annoyed groan for a moment, as she nips at his lip to free her.

“You’re so… mean,” she breathes. His eyes lock with hers, amusement glinting from the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. It’s inciting enough for her to shove at his chest, taking advantage of his surprise by flipping them over until she’s straddling him.

Immediately she transitions into riding him, palms splayed against his chest for stability. In his newly helpless state he goes slack-jawed, slowly blinking twice before he appears to return to himself. He attempts to rise, probably to kiss her, but she holds him in place until he settles for guiding her hips with his hands and his own thrusts.

“ _You’re_ so,” he starts, cutting off as they hit a perfect rhythm that leaves his cock buried to the hilt. “Hot,” he finishes. Her eyebrows rise. Another thrust. “Beautiful.” She huffs out a breath as she begins to lose her concentration. “Stunning.” His tongue trips with his drawl but she still flushes, still rolls her eyes good-naturedly and finally allows him to sit up.

He kisses her then, slow and open and with his tongue warmly sliding against hers. It does as much to twist her stomach as their previous activities, and when he begins to grind against her she responds with a slow circle of her hips. She can feel herself dancing closer to the edge, feel herself building a steady increase in friction. Blake fucks up into her carefully, his erection throbbing.

It’s when he breaks away from their kiss to breathe that she catches the tenderness in his eyes, the tilt of his mouth. It’s when he blurts out, half in disbelief and with his fingers running through her hair, “I love you.”

They must realize what he’s said at the exact same moment, because his latest thrust pauses at its peak precisely as she stills. Their widened eyes connect. Her heart pounds, her blood rushes, and all the while she can feel his imposing length against her walls. There’s an involuntary twitch of his hips and then her insides are contracting, her orgasm cresting with a shaking intensity that leaves her wailing. It causes him to come, too, the corner of his mouth drooping as he spills into her tightness.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reassures, moments later, with his head buried into her neck.

She’s relieved, really, because all she can think is that she’s never came so hard in her life.

 

ii.

Watching television together is really just an excuse for Gwen to use Blake’s body as a lounger, his chest serving as pillows and his arms the blankets. She’ll play with his shirt buttons absentmindedly during the show, pepper kisses up his jawline on commercial breaks. He never complains about the weight of her, only sighs contentedly when she stretches against him like a cat.

She appreciates that about him. Loves that about him. So she tells him, because the words haven’t been foreign to them for some time now.

He looks at her with the same rise of his eyebrows, the same upward tick of his lips, the same unmistakable disbelief that he always does.

“Why do you do that?” she asks, nudging a knuckle into his side. He peers over his nose at her.

“Do what?”

“Make that face like you don’t really believe me.” There’s the slightest pout to her lips, and Blake chuckles before kissing it away.

“Guess I still can’t believe it,” he shrugs. “I’m a lucky bastard.”

“If you’re lucky, I’m lucky,” she says. When he tilts his head, she grasps his jaw in both hands to force eye contact. “I love you because you are a good man. You are kind.” His eyes slide shut. “And funny.” She kisses the corner of his mouth. “And humble.” He whines, lowly and from the back of his throat. “Generous.” Lands a kiss on his cheekbone. “Sexy.” His hands fist into the back of her shirt and so she kisses him full-on, ending with a scrape of her teeth against his lower lip. He hums and buzzes against her.

A culmination and a repetition; “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispers, finally opening his eyes to meet hers of his own volition.

“Then believe me.” Their foreheads bump. Blake inhales deeply.

“I do.”

 

iii.

Gwen’s marriage ends with a phone call from her attorney. Officially, anyway. It had been over for a year plus by the time all the paperwork finally went through.

Blake’s with her when she gets the news, follows her to the balcony when she decides she’d like some air and a nice view. His palm is hesitant at the small of her back, his presence quiet but steady. Heavy, almost, in the way that he stares at her profile.

“How do you feel?” he asks. They’ve been silent for quite some time.

“Free, finally,” she sighs, and the lightness she feels reaches her eyes and pulls at her cheeks. When she meets his gaze, she spreads her arms like a monarch butterfly. “Finally flying.”

His mouth pulls into a smile; his hand slides to a steadier weight at her waist. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She kisses him then, cups his cheeks and lingers even when they’ve both broken away to breathe. Blake’s eyes practically cross in his determination to study her entire face up close.

“What?” she says, when she realizes his gaze has begun to flicker unsurely. His fingers curl into her hip.

“I bought you something.” He pauses to readjust his hat. “I think I wanna give it to you now.”

Gwen claps her hands together, bouncing on her heels. “Ooh, a present?”

The childlike joy with which she expresses herself brings an even wider smile to Blake’s face. His eyes are unwaveringly fond even as he digs into his back pocket and brings forth a small velvet box. Gwen could be clueless about jewelry and still know it’s meant for a ring.

“It’s not what you might be thinkin’,” he starts, running his thumb over the skin of it. Gwen only shakes her head, bites her lip.

“I wasn’t thinking anything.” It’s half true. Her heart’s been pounding in her ears since the moment she saw him reach into his jeans.

“I just…” He trails off before drawing a large inhale. There’s a renewed resolve in him when he pops the lid open, allowing her to peer inside. She sees diamonds before she registers that they are arranged into sunflowers, the largest of which sitting in the middle of two smaller ones. The band is white gold. Her breath catches.

“It’s a, um, it’s like a promise ring, actually,” he says. His drawl is thicker from the nerves, the weight of his words. “A ‘someday.’ And there’s three, see, because you’ve got those three boys and I wanted you to know… I’m not trying to be their dad or anything but I love them, not just because I love you, and I’m… in this. For however long that you wanna keep me around.”

She’s speechless at first. There’s not enough oxygen circulating to her brain for speech, really, because she hasn’t been breathing. And then she takes a large inhale, her face practically splitting from the size of her smile.

“You are, like,” she says, grasping his jaw and leaning in close, “perfect. I don’t think you even understand.”

Any tension in Blake’s body lifts, his shoulders sagging as he breathes a sigh of relief. “So you don’t hate it?”

“Oh my Gosh, Blake!” she exclaims. Kisses him fiercely and determinately, fingers catching in his hair. “How could I _ever_?”

“Believe it or not,” he says, grinning, “trying to buy jewelry for you is tricky business.”

“But sunflowers, Blakey!” Her voice rises to a high pitch as she shoves at his shoulders and absorbs his laughter. When the moment has died down, she follows, “Are you gonna put it on me or what?”

His face twists into its teasing countenance, mouth puckered as he replies, “Ooh, bossy.” Nevertheless, he pops the ring out and then tosses the box onto a nearby lounge chair. He appears to hesitate then, unsure which hand to aim for, and Gwen decides not to make it any easier on him. Finally settling on her right, he slides the ring into place and then leans in to kiss her.

She grasps his neck again, presses the band into his pulse point. When they pull apart, she remains close enough to land two more pecks on his lips.

“Now the other hand,” she whispers, grazing her nose against his. “Just to see what it looks like.” Blake bites his lip to quell a smile before following her orders, first by removing her hands from around his neck and then by carefully displacing her ring onto the proper finger.

“By the way, Blake,” she says. “I love you too.”

He kisses the palm of her hand.

 

iv.

Blake’s birthday winds down with the two of them, a private plane, and snuggling on a couch. Gwen’s as much in his lap as she is on the couch, her legs resting atop his thighs as he toys with her jeans. She makes him keep his “Happy Birthday” glasses on even though the plastic crinkles against her forehead every time she leans in to kiss him.

He’s got contentment in his face, settling into his skin and tilting up his lips even as his eyelids droop closed. She snakes her icy hands under his shirt, presses them into his back and smirks when he shudders.

“Thank you,” he utters, words quiet and running together. “For the cake and the decorations and even these stupid glasses. You have a beautiful orange glow, by the way.”

She giggles, hurries to remove his glasses and flick them away so that she can immediately resume heating her hands with his skin. His smile grows more defined in the meantime.

“Much better.” He tilts his head towards her then, bumping their foreheads as his arm tightens around her waist.

“On a scale of one to forty,” she says, smiling as recognition lights his eyes. “Where would you rank this birthday?”

“Forty.” When she freezes, tilting her head, Blake rushes forward with a chuckle. “Oh, you meant which one I’ve liked best, not chronologically?”

“You’re so annoying.” She rolls her eyes. Her gaze drops to her lap, though, and Blake’s quick to lean down and force eye contact.

“There’s no question in my mind that this is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” he says. His voice is low like it gets when he’s being sincere, eyes intent on hers so that she won’t have the option of doubting him. He’s rubbing soothing circles into her back with the palm of his hand.

She smiles, ducking her head for a moment before kissing his cheek. “Good.”

They’re quiet until he chuckles, some wayward thought evidently bringing him entertainment.

“I can’t believe you got a bunch of country fans to jump up and down.” He shakes his head as he speaks, but his eyes are alight with awe when she studies them.

“Blake, they did that because it’s your birthday,” she explains. He’s quick to cluck his tongue at her.

“I saw the way you commanded them. You can’t hide the fact that you’re a dominatrix from me, darlin’.” As if to emphasize his point, his index finger traces the lining of her top under her jacket. Perhaps she could admit that she’d worn nothing but sheer black and straps on purpose.

She pushes her lower lip into a pout as she regards him. “How would you feel if that persona was your last present of the night?”

Blake whistles then, shifting in his seat underneath her. “Well, you’re about to feel something through my jeans, I can tell you that,” he quips.

Gwen only laughs and shakes her head, long familiar with his ability to walk the line between crude and charming.

“I love you,” she proclaims, completely unprompted.

Blake kisses the corner of her mouth.

“I love you too. So much.”

 

v.

Gwen realized a couple months into their relationship that Blake was fascinated by her process of applying makeup. When Gregory or any other artist did it for her, Blake would lose interest halfway through and fiddle with his phone or try to start up an inflammatory conversation. But when she did her own makeup? He was always at rapt attention.

The same is true now, years later, no matter how many times he’s watched her repeat the same process over and over.

“What’s that sparkly stuff called again?” he asks, perched on the edge of a chair he’s pulled up next to her vanity. His jaw is slack, head tilted.

“Highlighter,” she answers, half amused and half distracted. Her movements are quick and smooth, the brush focused at her cheekbones.

Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Blake crinkling his nose. “Like the marker you use in school when you’re studyin’?”

“I mean, the function is different. Obviously.” Having finished applying, she turns her head from one side to another so that the light will catch the lightened, glowing patches of her skin. Blake watches her reflection in the mirror, studies what she’s indicating.

“So it makes you look like more of an angel than you already are,” he grins, clearly proud of himself. He leans a little more forward in his chair.

Gwen only rolls her eyes dubiously. “Oh, yeah. Something like that.”

“What? You’re… smokin’ hot.”

She pauses in her search for lipstick, catches his gaze in the mirror from under her lashes. “Blake, I’m not even done with my makeup yet!”

He stands up then, walks over to her and then kneels so that he can kiss her cheek. “You were hot before you put the gunk on.”

“For the record, this ‘gunk’ is magic,” she corrects. He only nuzzles against her temple, and silence reigns as she focuses on applying her lipstick. There are frayed, wayward hairs that gather at her hairline from years of harsh dyeing and styling, and she can see how they shift as Blake breathes. A sudden thought, possibly fueled by insecurity and possibly fueled by curiosity alone, occurs to her.

“Blake?” she asks. He hums in acknowledgement. “Would you still love me if I went bald?”

His exhale is half shock, half chuckle. “What?”

“It’s just that I have a lot of, like, damage up there, you know?” His eyes are open now, affixed to hers in the reflection.

“Babe, I’d love you even if you didn’t have a single strand of hair on that head of yours,” he reassures. Gwen bites her lip, tilts her head. “The real question,” he continues, “is how you can love a fat, ugly guy like me.”

She smacks him with the back of her hand, right in his self-proclaimed beer belly.

“You are not fat or ugly.” She glares.

He smirks in turn, kissing her temple once more. This time he’s got his left hand on her neck, the cold metal of his ring evident against a tendon that stands defined under her skin.

“And that’s why I love ya.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I didn't leave you hanging after the UST chapter! We resolved it! :P
> 
> Also, if you wanted to follow me on tumblr (roguefembot) or twitter (roguefembott ((yes, with two t's))), that would be awesome. We could talk about things. Shefani things.


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gwen’s used to long distance, used to not seeing her partner every single day, used to work obligations that carry them across the country or even across the globe. She’s a little less used to that partner coming back as often as possible, never smelling like someone else’s cheap perfume."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Sorry that I'm the slowest updater on planet earth; I'm working on it. :P Once again, thank you so so much if you've left kudos or commented or shown support on Twitter. Y'all are the reason I have enough inspiration to keep updating.

**(4)**

**FIVE TIMES…**

**THEY REUNITED**

i.

It’s not that she’s been avoiding Blake since they kissed. Her trip to Montana with the boys had already been planned; it just so happened to land a couple of days after… the incident. For Blake’s part, he’d emailed her the next day to let her know that he was up for picking up where they left off. If it felt slightly like a proposition, he’d amended the implications by insisting that he wanted to “live in the moment.”

Whatever that means.

She’d written a song about it, though. A bold kind of melody, a projection of the kind of person she could be ( _with him_ , she knows) if she were only that much braver. And then she’d listened to it on repeat during her vacation. Decided maybe growth could be achieved in the wake of tragedy.

It’s the only reason she has it in her to text him when she’s home again, kids stowed away at Gavin’s new place.

Blake is on her doorstep in no more than twenty minutes.

He pulls her into a hug before she’s even gotten a chance to greet him, his arms tight without being restrictive, her head falling into a familiar cradle against his chest. They only embrace like this in private.

“I’m so glad you texted,” he breathes, warm air puffing at her temple. It strikes her then that she’s left him paranoid. There’s a tension to the set of his shoulders. She’s a little bit desperate to alleviate it.

“I thought about what you said,” she offers. Her words are muffled by the cotton of his shirt and so he loosens his grip without retracting, allows her some space without daring to look at her face.

“And?” he requests tentatively.

“Living in the moment could be,” she traces the crease of his shirt, scratches her nail against his chest hair when she reaches an undone button, “something. I could do that.”

She expects the sigh of relief, the way his frame curves towards hers like he’s letting a guard down. She doesn’t, however, expect him to dip down to kiss her. There’s a hand on her jaw tilting her head into place, and when their lips meet, she melts into him. It’s different than their first kisses, less urgent. Consideration manifests in the way he doesn’t push for more, only holds it for as long as he can before he’s in need of breath.

She’s lightheaded when he finally pulls away. His forehead remains tethered to her own, gaze flickering from her mouth to her eyes and back again.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” she admits thoughtlessly, mind preoccupied with the juxtaposition of such a fragile kiss having rendered her muscles weak, fluid. When she realizes what she’s said, she finds Blake smirking at her.

Her old friends, insecurity and panic, fester. “Forget I said that.” She swallows, makes to disengage. Blake holds her steady.

“How about I trade one confession for another?” he suggests instead. Curiosity keeps her rooted in place. “I think I wrote a song about you months ago. I didn’t know it was gonna be about you, but it feels like it is now. Does that make sense?”

Gwen squints her eyes at him, bites the inside of her cheek. She knows what it means to regret having written a song about someone, knows how songs that meant little at the time of conception can become self-fulfilling prophecies. This isn’t a stretch.

She nods her head. “Yeah, it kinda does.”

“It was about friendship though.” He grins, speaks the words into her lips before kissing her again.

“We’re still friends,” she says when they’ve pulled apart. Then, she amends, “Best friends.” Tugs at his collar and stares at his cheekbone when uncertainty sets in.

“Yes,” he agrees. This time he sighs into her mouth before reclaiming her lips, and it’s almost funny, how gravitational this feels.

“So maybe it’s, um,” she starts, pausing when she realizes she’s about to voice another unbidden thought. Her mouth is stuck in a crooked, contemplative smile.

“Meant to be?” Blake finishes. She flushes in return, and he swipes a thumb against her reddened cheek. “I think so.”

 _Only for the moment, though_ , she tries to remind herself.

 

ii.

Sending off her verse for Blake’s song took more courage than she thought she was capable of, more courage than it took to initiate a relationship with him in the first place. Gwen wonders if she’s changing or if he’s already ingrained himself so deeply that his bravery has become her own.

It’s nerve-wracking, then, when she doesn’t hear back from him for several days. She knows the reception in Mexico can be spotty, knows he’s probably busy hunting and drinking and whatever else. It doesn’t stop her from contemplating the idea that they’ve somehow switched roles, exchanged his bravery for her cowardice. Perhaps she shouldn’t have written what she did.

It all comes to a head when he’s waiting at her doorstep in full camo one morning, just after she’s dropped off her kids. If she were to invite him inside, kiss him in the foyer, it would be full-blown déjà vu.

“Blake?” she calls, eyebrows furrowed as she tucks her keys into her purse. “I thought you weren’t coming back until-“

“I got your lyrics,” he interrupts. “They’re… wow. Incredible.”

She stops a foot in front of him, feels her eyes crinkling at the corners as she regards him. Sincerely, she returns, “Thank you,” but the latter word is not quite finished when he forges ahead.

“You said you loved me.” It’s not quite accusatory; it’s too hopeful, too round.

Gwen takes a steadying breath. “Technically, I said falling in love was the last thing I needed.”

There’s a tentative smile pulling at her lips, enough of a sign to prevent Blake from deflating at her wordplay. He raises his eyebrows instead.

“Right, so…” He trails off, sighs. “It implies…” He stops to adjust the cap on his head. Finally, because he’s fed up with himself, he bursts, “Did’ya mean it?”

Gwen steps forward to press her free palm against his chest, to feel the thump of his heart against her skin. She meets his gaze from under her eyelashes.

“I always tell the truth in my lyrics.” Then, because that’s not enough: “Yes.”

Tenderness softens the crinkle of his eyes, the indentation of his dimples.

“Say it,” he breathes. Begs. Blinks heavily before adding, “Please.”

Gwen swallows to garner her courage. Then, with conviction, she declares, “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before.”

Something like a whine is ripped from Blake’s chest. He gathers her in his arms, lets her feel the full imposing force of his stature as he kisses her. Warm, open-mouthed, impatient. His tongue is sliding against her own before she has even fully registered what’s happening, but when she does, she only tugs him closer by the nape of his neck.

He’s panting when he finishes, but his eyes are intent on her own.

“I love you too,” he says. “But you knew that already.” His eyes flicker with amusement so she kisses that smugness away, smears the shake of her head against lips and stubble.

 

iii.

Gwen’s used to long distance, used to not seeing her partner every single day, used to work obligations that carry them across the country or even across the globe. She’s a little less used to that partner coming back as often as possible, never smelling like someone else’s cheap perfume.

It’s why she’s started a little project that has Blake constantly seeking out her closet whenever he returns from the road.

It’s why he marches right into her home with the key she gave him weeks ago, hands sliding around her waist from behind as she checks on the macaroni she’s boiling for Apollo.

“So I was gonna stop by my rental to pick up my favorite black shirt,” he says, breath warm against her ear, “but then I realized I left it here.”

She hums in response; pinches some salt from a nearby jar into her pot.

“ _Then_ I realized a couple of the shirts that had gone missin’ from my place were also here,” he continues. His hands slide forward to her stomach. Her head lulls back, onto his shoulder, so she can watch his profile.

“Were you gonna greet me before you accused me of stealing your smelly cowboy shirts?” she teases, nose scrunched. Blake’s dimples appear, so she nuzzles into the closest one.

“Gwen, have you been movin’ me into your house?” It’s not until he’s said it that she realizes she had been expecting the words to sound annoyed, for him to have felt caged in by her clinginess. In actuality, he only sounds amused.

“If you have to go to your rental to pick up clothes every time you come back from a show, that’s almost an hour less that we’re together,” she justifies. “It’s just, like, basic math.”

She’d prepared an explanation ahead of time, right down to the thoughtful lull she allows before forging ahead.

“Besides,” she sighs, “you started leaving your shirts here first.”

Blake chuckles and his chest rumbles behind her, against her back. She closes her eyes and smiles into it.

“I only did that because you started wearin’ them around!” The defiance in his voice is boyish, not at all serious. She cups the side of his jaw facing away from her.

“I can stop if it bothers you,” she shrugs. He’s quick to shake his head, stubble roughing against her fingertips.

“No, no. Don’t do that.”

She laughs at his urgency. “Okay.”

“Your closet’s big enough for two,” he continues. Folds in on himself so he can kiss her shoulder. Her hand slides into his hair. “We could sleep in there if we wanted to.”

“Then it’s a good thing the bed’s _also_ big enough for two.” She smiles when he nods, scratches her nails against his scalp until he’s practically vibrating with contentment.

He mumbles his next words into the juncture between her shoulder and neck. “And after this tour’s over?”

It’s the hesitancy and the hopefulness in his voice that affords her the courage to respond, “I mean, you’ll already be moved in.”

A long exhale.

“Might as well stay.”

 

iv.

Fifteen days. It’s the longest block of time they’ve spent apart from each other since they started dating. Gwen knows it was unavoidable, and some nights she can even be satiated by FaceTiming until Blake passes out face first into his pillow. She just doesn’t like that they’ve broken their previous record two years into their relationship.

The good news, if there is any, is that she’s talked (or, well, emailed and prodded) Gavin into taking the kids as soon as he returns from the UK – in spite of jetlag – so that she can fly to Oklahoma and reunite with Blake. It’s not that she doesn’t want to take her kids with her, it’s just that she doesn’t want them hearing all the things she intends to do to him when she finally sees him.

Of course, the first time she sees him is at the airport, and she can’t very well do any of those things there. That doesn’t stop her from rushing the tarmac, launching herself into Blake’s arms and kissing him silly. His stubble is practically a beard from infrequent shaving and it roughs at her chin and her nose but she figures ruddy skin is a worthy tradeoff, so she goes in as hard as she wants to. Revels in the stutter of his breath against her cheek, the curl of his fingers on her lower back.

When they pull apart, their bodies remain pressed together at every possible juncture. She slides her arms around his waist and wonders if it’s possible that he’s lost weight, if it’s possible that she can physically feel it.

“Well, I missed you too,” he teases, and even his drawl sounds thicker from the time spent out in his cornfields and hunting with locals. Gwen can’t decide if she wants to cry because fifteen days is too long a time to spend apart or strip Blake down and find out if anything else has changed.

“Take me back to your ranch, cowboy,” she requests. His eyebrows rise in that teasing way they do when she’s impressed him with her bluntness, but his face is tinged pink.

“Whatever you say.”

Indeed, the journey between the airport and his ranch is spent with him conspiring for her approval. When she grabs for his free arm, the one unattached to the steering wheel, he lets her place his hand on her thigh and then squeezes as she runs her nails up his forearm. And when she presses her lips to his clothed shoulder and breathes in, he kisses the crown of her head. Later, when she drags him out of the truck without so much as a laptop bag and heads inside, straight for his bedroom, he follows silently.

It’s not until she’s rounded on him – hands in his hair and popping his cap off, impatient kisses landing at every angle on his lips – that Blake chuckles at her behavior. In the spaces between her kisses, he manages to say, “Not even gonna ask me about my day, huh?”

She shushes him, pressing her puckered lips against his again and again. “No talking.”

“Kinky.”

She giggles into his beard, the hollow of his cheek. He finally acquiesces and pulls her close with his hands low on her hips, his head dipping so he can pepper kisses down her neck and her shoulder.

Taking advantage of his preoccupation, she works on unbuttoning his shirt and then sliding it off his shoulders when she has the chance. His lips slide back up her neck, across her jaw and chin before landing once more on her mouth. She works on unbuckling his belt even as she reciprocates, undoing his jeans and then tugging at them when she’s ready for them to be _off._

“Don’t wanna take it slow?” he asks, even as he follows her orders. She strips her own shirt off in the interim.

“Later,” she insists, making haste with her jeans. She’s grateful when his fingers join hers and aid in yanking the material down her legs. By the time they’re completely naked, she misses the warmth of his body pressed against hers enough that she draws him in by the neck and sloppily ravages him. Blake backs her towards the bed in turn, topples them over and then settles himself between her legs. She moans at the brush of his cock against her folds, the press of his hips on her pelvis.

Getting lost in the feeling of him kissing her, his arms bracing her legs, his dick rutting against her groin, she almost doesn’t notice when his warmth suddenly disappears. Her brain catches up a moment later, when he’s already moved halfway down the bed.

“Where are you going?” she breathes, dazed and desperate. His head’s between her legs.

“Shhh,” he placates; it’s clear by the tilt of his mouth when he glances her way that he’s mimicking her earlier shushes. Then he’s nuzzling his beard along her inner thighs, mouthing at her mound periodically. Her fingers twist in the hair atop his head, her legs clamping before she manages to heft them over his shoulders.

She’s begging, _please_ , again and again, but she doesn’t know what for. He’s barely even touched her. The heat in her gut is nearly unbearable.

Finally, finally, he opens his mouth against her. Swirls his tongue against her clit, pries her legs apart when they try to clench around him. She’s panting and arching when he starts mumbling into her, lamenting how he’s missed her and praising her taste and worshipping every sound she makes. Her breathing is at a continuous high pitch that periodically builds into a moan, and before she knows it she’s fucking herself against his face and he’s groaning like it’s what he’s been waiting for all along.

When she climaxes, it’s with the feel of Blake’s name on her lips and a pleasurable spasm of her muscles. He works her through it, rubs his beard against her thigh one last time, and then climbs back up her body. He’s sweating and red-faced, but she wraps herself around him all the same and pulls him into a deep kiss.

“You look tired, farmer man,” she teases when they break, running her fingernails along the indentations in his face. He pants a laugh.

“I _am_ tired,” he says, but when she pushes at his chest like she might flip them over, he holds steady with his elbows planted into the mattress. “But my girl made it clear she missed me in a sexual kinda way so I’m fixin’ to deliver.”

She kisses his forehead despite the perspiration. “You already did,” she promises. “And I missed you in more ways than just sexually.”

His eyes turn soft then, expression blown wide and vulnerable as he leans in to kiss her sweetly. The mood only shifts again as he settles into her, the hard length of him very much still present between them. She feels a renewed rush of arousal and scratches her nails down his back.

“Alright, I’m gonna fuck you now,” he says decisively. It hits her right in her core even as she smiles teasingly at him.

“You sure? You won’t pass out?”

His hand’s already poised at the base of his cock. “I can make it five good minutes.” He grins at her crinkled nose and then pushes in, pausing as she adjusts around him and throws her head back. With time, he rocks the rest of the way in.

She’s trembling as he wraps his arms around her lower back and tilts her hips into a new angle. They both groan at the renewed closeness, the drag of his cock. Her nails dig urgently into his ass. He rapidly picks up his pace until he’s slamming the headboard into the wall, Gwen’s cries of pleasure igniting what little strength he has left. He comes without warning with his forehead pressed slick against hers, and the jerk of his hips is enough against her overly sensitive walls to push her over one more time as well.

Later, when Blake’s eyes are drooping and Gwen’s splayed half on top of him, toying with his chest hair, she catches sight of the contented smile on his lips.

“You made it,” she says. It could be a compliment, if it weren’t informed by mischief.

“To my credit,” he begins, peering at her from the corner of his eye, “My last six shows went well and I harvested all the crops – the sunflowers came in, by the way –, finished the fencing on the south side, bought another horse, shot two deer, and finally got Zuma’s room done. It’s got a basketball hoop now. I’ll show you when I can move again.”

Gwen bites her lip and nuzzles just under his jawline. Revels in the feel of this very kind, very hardworking man. “Later,” she confirms.

 

v.

At the beginning of their relationship, they would move mountains to be together. Gwen would wait up all night if she knew Blake was coming home at four in the morning, or she would fly a commercial red eye just to be with him for a couple of extra hours. There’s no lack of effort on either of their parts to coordinate their schedules now, but she’s used to spending certain pockets of time without him. She doesn’t always wait up all night anymore, because she knows he’ll come wake her if he’s so inclined.

Tonight, it’s the touch of his lips – feather light on her hairline – that does the trick. She blinks her eyes open slowly, leisurely, and watches with dazed attention as he retreats to their closet to change out of his stinky hunting camo.

By the time he returns, clad in a nightshirt and his boxers, she still hasn’t quite dragged herself out of that place of heavy drowsiness. He slides into bed beside her and pulls her into an embrace, his head tucking into her neck.

“I’m sorry I’m home so late,” he breathes. She wraps her arms around his neck as if he were a teddy bear to snuggle.

“S’okay,” she mumbles, eyes already falling closed again. Her chest hums. “I know you have to escape to the woods sometimes.”

He pulls back to study her face, and it takes a weighted moment for her to realize that she’s said something wrong. Her eyes fly open to find that Blake’s expression is colored with consternation.

“Is that how I’ve made you feel?” he asks.

She stumbles over her response, exhaustion and anxiety mixing terribly. “I-I just mean, like, you love to be out there… hunting and farming and being camouflaged. It’s your natural element, or whatever.”

His lips purse as he raises a hand to run through her hair.

“I _do_ love all of those things that you’ve described… so eloquently,” he begins, teasing smile flashing briefly before a seriousness sets into his features. “But more than that, I love you. And our family. I’m always thinking of y’all when I’m out there.”

“I know,” Gwen replies with the shake of her head. Her tongue feels numb.

“No, listen,” he insists. Kisses her forehead. “I enjoy those activities because they’re a part of who I am and how I grew up. But I also like to reflect on life, on all my blessings.” A sigh. “I don’t go away to escape you. I’ve never wanted to escape you.”

Something inside of her shakes loose, breaks free. It seems old insecurities had seized her, preyed upon her sleepy vulnerability and slipped into her relationship with Blake. Perhaps they had never really gone away, but she can feel the catharsis washing over her with his words and it’s a balm.

She gathers his shirt in her fist and tugs him closer so that she can kiss first his top, then his bottom lip.

“I guess you _did_ marry me,” she whispers. “Would be counterproductive to escaping.”

He hums into her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can u guess what the next chapter's theme is? :o


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